The Savior King, the Master Tactition, and the Queen of Liberation
by TheGirlWithFarTooManyIdeas
Summary: There's an old tale in Fodlan that in times of strife, the Goddess binds certain souls to each other to ensure that joy returns to the land. Less spiritually inclined people remark that the universe has a funny way of making bedfellow, friends and more out of unexpected people. Or, in which Dimitri punches out a racist and history is changed as a result.
1. Chapter 1

**The Savior Kings**

_**Or, in which Dimitri punches out a racist and history is changed as a result**_

**Chapter 1**

If someone had told Dimitri just after he met Claude von Reigan for the first time that he would knock a man's teeth out for insulting him, he would have given them a strange look.

It wasn't that he disliked the other man – he just found him incredibly exasperating. Claude was capable, intelligent and charismatic; all traits worth admiring; however, he went out of his way to tease and bedevil people, rarely acting like the duke he would become in a few years at best. That in and of itself wouldn't be too off-putting – Dimitri was friends with Sylvain, after all – if it weren't for the way he smiled.

For all that Claude joked, teased and generally acted casual, his eyes...were always cold. When he smiled, bright and friendly, those green orbs were remote and unreadable. Dimitri wasn't a man easily unnerved after what the things he'd experienced...but it _did _unnerve him, that Claude could act so warm without feeling a thing. It was a carefully practiced act; had to be, seeing how many people fell for it and believed he was nothing but a troublemaker. If seeing the life leave people's eyes hadn't taught Dimitri to look more closely at them, he might have been fooled as well.

People – even Edelgard, brilliant and people-savvy as she was – dismissed the young duke for the person he appeared to be. Dimitri, meanwhile, feared that Claude was a good deal more dangerous than he appeared. If he could smile so warmly while being so cold inside...how could he trust anything the other man said? If he could feign friendship easily, without it meaning anything, didn't that mean he could discard his 'friends' without a care the moment it was expedient?

So perhaps Dimitri had been more aloof toward his fellow house leader than he should have been. Part of the reason he was at the academy was to foster good relations with his fellow future rulers, after all; he was hardly achieving that by being overly critical of the other man in the name of hiding his unease.

Fate, however, as it so often did, was playing a trick on him. Dimitri wasn't sure what else to call a random happenstance that exposed him to Claude's best kept secret.

Dimitri had been headed to the training grounds when he heard the shouting. Someone was in a hideous temper, screaming abuse at another, and that never heralded anything good.

Alarmed, he turned and hurried back the way he came and into one of the monastery's many alleys, where a disturbing scene lay out before him. Cyril – a young man he'd seen a few times before in the Archbishop's company – was backing away from a reedy man in church armor, a number of weapons scattered across the ground around him. Claude was standing a few feet back, a resigned look on his face. "-could've killed me, you little brat!" The soldier was spitting, hands clenched into fists.

"Hardly," Claude countered, taking a step forward and helping Cyril to his feet. The poor boy looked incredibly rattled; he didn't quite cower behind the older student, but he visibly backed away from the soldier, shoulders hunched. "He doesn't have the strength to do that by accident. Besides, your in full plate armor. At worst you would've had to knock out a dent."

"Did I ask you, you Almyran mutt?" The soldier spat.

Claude's demeanor changed instantly, greater than anything Dimitri had seen before. He went completely rigid, one hand sliding down to his belt and shifting back into a defensive stance. Those cold green eyes momentarily flared with alarm...and what almost looked like panic. "Geez," He complained, his voice amazingly calm, "get a bit of a tan and everyone assumes you're from the outside world. It really doesn't take much, does it?" Somehow the prince didn't think he was talking about his skin color.

"Don't be coy, it's degrading." The soldier sneered, puffing himself up so he seemed taller. "Even if I couldn't _smell _it on you, I've fought at Fodlan's throat. I could recognize your kind a mile away. How humiliating for the duke, for his only heir to be baseborn _half breed._"

Cyril twisted and stared up at Claude, who seemed unmoved. "You know, considering you're a man of proper breeding," He said flippantly, "It's odd _I'm_ not the one screaming bloody murder at a kid for bumping into me around a blind corner."

"You have no right," The soldier took a menacing step forward. "Neither of you. You have no right to disgrace the monastery with your presence."

"_Enough!_"

It took Dimitri a moment, when all three spun around to face him, to realize he in fact had spoken. He'd rather felt like he was in a dream – or maybe a memory. How many times had he needed to confront a soldier speaking to Dedue in this very manner? How often, since the man had entered his house, had he needed to sternly order his servants to stop whispering behind his back, chew out soldiers for 'accidentally' causing an injury during training? It didn't matter that he'd never set foot in Almyra; he couldn't let this pass by without speaking up.

"You forget yourself," He told the soldier, intentionally switching to the tones he used when speaking to his people. Even though he'd only done so a handful of times, Rodrigue had praised his oratory power. "The Archbishop invited Cyril and Claude von Riegan into these halls. No one has more authority under the goddess than her! It is _you _who has no right – not to harass them, and certainly not to abuse Cyril over an honest mistake, the likes of which happens every day in this busy area!"

"The Riegan bastard prays to foreign gods!" The soldier burst out, disbelief and anger warring in his voice. "He's spat on her kindness! It's in his blood. No good will come from having him here. He is -"

"-a man!" Dimitri cut him off ruthlessly, pitching his voice so it drowned out whatever bile was meant to follow. "Claude is a man no different from you, and he is no bastard – not under law, and I doubt he is one in spirit either. His mother returned with him to her place of birth, and that I believe speaks for itself. You owe him an apology, and Cyril too, and I suggest you start to consider what you will say to the Archbishop after I speak of this incident with her!"

"Dimitri..." Claude's voice trailed off. Dimitri looked over the man's shoulder to see the archer staring wide eyed at him. His expression, while still largely unreadable, seemed stunned.

"Aplogize?! To the son of a whore?! You would have-"

The sensation of his temper snapping was a palpable thing; Dimitri felt rather than saw his fist slam into the man's jaw. The force of the impact sent several teeth flying through the air; the man himself flew several feet back into the wall and dropped like a stone to the ground, out like a light. For a moment Dimitri worried that he might have killed him; fortunately, movement in the soldier's chest put that to rest. Dimitri stared at the result of his work for a moment, then sighed, wiping the splatter of blood off his face.

"I shouldn't have done that," He said, slightly embarrassed. "Hit him, that is. Hopefully this won't buy him more sympathy than he deserves." He stepped around his fallen victim and began gathering up the weapons that had caused the conflict. "Did he hurt you at all, Cyril?"

"Ah...n-no, he didn't, Claude was there," The young man stammered out, scrambling to the ground to help. "I – c'mon, you don't have to -"

"Please, it's the least I can do," Dimitri picked up the lance and carefully balanced it in Cyril's arms. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. Has that happened often?" Cyril opened his mouth, hesitated, then stammered out a weak-sounding denial. "Please, be honest. And not just with me, but Lady Rhea as well. She won't stand for this, I assure you."

"She wouldn't, huh..." Claude murmured, just barely audible to them.

Dimitri stood up and held out the few weapons to his counterpart. "Would you take these?" He asked politely. "I have to see to him. And speak with Seteth. The fact that he felt comfortable attacking you and Cyril..." He shook his head.

Claude took the weapons without saying a word, green eyes sharpening. Dimitri was struck with the intense sense that he was being analyzed, though those emerald pools were as frustratingly enigmatic as ever. For him to slip so easily back into that calm...how often had he heard people say such things about him...? "Yeah, no problem," The brunette said casually. "Though I'm not sure how you're going to explain that," he nodded toward the unconscious soldier.

"Oh, I intend to tell the truth," Dimitri said firmly, striding over to the man and slinging him over one shoulder. The plate armor dug uncomfortably into his neck, but he ignored it with long practice. "and by the goddess, he will never mistreat either of you again."

He left the alley, feeling Claude's gaze burning into his back long after he reached the infirmary.

Seteth, fortunately, seemed almost as unhappy as Dimitri himself after he was told the full story. Oh, he was displeased by the prince's lack of control over his temper, but punishment that consisted just of two weeks worth of weeding the gardens was a small price to pay for insuring the ornery soldier would be thoroughly disciplined and reassigned to border duty. Dimitri knew it wasn't very princely of him, but he couldn't help the satisfied smirk he gave them Seteth informed the man of Lady Rhea's displeasure. The soldier turned white as a sheet.

"To think he had the nerve to abuse the Archbishop's guests behind her back," Seteth muttered afterwards, glowering. "I need to speak to the other knights and see how much they knew of or enabled this behavior."

Dimitri was quite grateful; both because Cyril and Claude were clearly disturbed by what happened, and because this inspection would likely catch those giving Dedue trouble as well.

"Thank you, for bringing this to my attention." Seteth nodded at him. "Though it would behoove you not to use your fists should this happen again."

"Forgive me," Dimitri bowed, contrite. "It's just that...I have been using words alone to defend my friend for the longest time. The frustration I feel in those moments is immense. I hope that as I continue to master my weapons, my emotions will follow."

Seteth nodded. "See to it. You are dismissed now; dinner will be served shortly, after all."

The walk down to the dining hall did wonders to clear his head; even though he couldn't taste anything these days, some good food from home was always welcome. The warm racket of conversation engulfed him as he entered and went to serve himself; the Hunting Festival was on, meaning there was enough food for everyone to have seconds. His classmates were already there; even at the front of the hall, he could hear Annette enthusiastically discussing the desert menu with Mercedes, Ingrid telling Ashe about the new book of tales in the library, and Dedue scolding Sylvain for flirting with the maids amidst the chatter of the hall. He stood there for a moment, plate in hand, just...trying to absorb that warmth he could feel from everyone present.

It made his demons feel far away.

It was almost ironic. He had come to the monastery primarily to find out the truth about Duscar, to chase down the one truly responsible for the brutal deaths of his loved ones and _end _them. Yet even as he worked, he found himself distracted by...little things. The cheer of his fellow Blue Lions as they pulled him this way and that way, chasing things that caught their eye. The lazy Wednesdays he spent fishing, not often catching much (his tendency to break things extended to fishing lines, unfortunately) but enjoying himself all the same. The tournaments that allowed him test his skills in an innocent way, harming no one while still imparting valuable experience. It was as if, as long as he stayed here, no voice would trouble him.

"There you are!"

Except perhaps for one!

Claude appeared at his side as if out of the ether, beaming brightly and catching his plate before he dropped it in shock. "Been looking for you," He said blithely. "C'mon, we saved you a seat."

"I-what? Claude – wait – but I'm not one of the -" Dimitri's confused protests fell on deaf ears; Claude grabbed his arm and half tugged, half dragged him to the far right of the dining hall, where the Golden Deer claimed their long table. Sure enough, there was an empty seat tucked right between Raphael and the leader's own chair; Claude casually put his plate there and dropped back in front of his own meal, which was almost untouched.

"It's the last Friday before our first live training exercise," The brunette said by way of explanation, "Sounds like a reason to celebrate to me. Seeing as you're already a step head, why don't you impart your wisdom on our unruly gaggle of misfits?"

"So it did happen!" A white haired girl – Lysithea, Dimitri was fairly certain that was her name – leaned forward with an eager smile. "You really did knock out that guy harassing Cyril in one punch?!"

Dimitri's ears burned. "Don't tell me everyone's already heard of that," He pleaded.

"Eh, too late," Hilda von Goneril cackled at his embarrassed facepalm. "That was _awesome, _by the way. That guy is a total creep; he's only at the monastery because my brother kicked him out our household!"

"I heard you knocked his teeth out, and you weren't even wearing gauntlets!" Raphael said eagerly. "That's not all; I asked around, and I heard that you lifted an entire carriage by yourself once!"

"It was for a good cause," Dimitri protested, "My crest aside, physical strength is in my blood. My father-" He stalled, swallowing hard over the emotions the memory brought up, "-my father once lifted a tree off Felix and I after it fell and nearly crushed us. Before that, he told me a story about my grandfather where he carried a foal through the woods so a healer could tend to its leg. It's a – a family quirk, you could say."

"I'd love to hear the stories," Leonie said, stretching before pushing her empty plate toward one of the serving bowls. "Especially if they end with you dropping jerks like rocks."

Dimitri sputtered and turned to halfheartedly glare at Claude. The brunette grinned at him, eyes dancing with amusement. Something got stuck in the prince's brain at the sight when he realized he'd never seen that before. Not quite. He was smiling, amused...and it didn't seem artificial. Guarded, maybe; rooted in Dimitri's current awkwardness, absolutely. But...it was real.

It changed Claude's whole face. Suddenly everything in his demeanor was playful, welcoming...and the effect of that was immediate and overwhelming.

The discomfort he'd so often felt around the man evaporated like morning mist; his lips started moving, and he found himself telling stories he had kept to himself...well, ever since Duscar. About his grandfather. About his father, and stepmother, and Glenn. It amazed him that he still remembered those good times; even though, in moments, he would flash back to that terrible day, the laughter and fascination of the lively people around him drove the images away.

It was strange how alike, yet how different the Golden Deer were from his own Lions. They were relaxed in a way noble children weren't; Raphael and Leonie casually swore on occasion, while Ignatz was nervous and fascinated by art, twice offering to paint him a picture. Lysithea was obsessed with sweets and Marianne hardly spoke; Hilda, meanwhile, seemed to get a kick out of being as lazy as possible and was proud of it. Lorenz was the most like a noble Dimitri might have met at home, yet his shameless flirting was dangerously akin to Sylvain. Yet they welcomed him without batting an eye. Suddenly Dimitri wondered if this was Claude's strength; that anyone could come to him and his people and feel like they belonged there.

That...was an incredible power, indeed.

And Claude...Claude kept drawing him into conversation – through jokes, though casual observations...once again, the weight of his attention was a felt thing. Dimitri didn't know what to make of it...and there were moments where the young man casually touched him and he just prayed he wasn't as visibly baffled as he felt. What had changed? Surely such a basic kindness as he showed earlier wouldn't be enough to drop the barriers the future Duke Riegan had built around himself?

Dimitri lost track of time in the midst of this; dinner ended before he knew it, Dedue removing the empty plate in front of him while regarding him very curiously. Claude smiled cheerfully at his retainer and said, "No need to make that face~! We were only borrowing him; just one more moment and I'll give him right back." He winked at Dimitri and sauntered out of the room, clearly expecting him to follow.

"It's no trouble, Dedue," Dimitri assured hastily, scrambling to get up. "I enjoyed myself, actually." He smiled at the Golden Deer, earning friendly grins in return. "I'll be right back." He left the hall at a jog, a strange hope in his chest that he had earned honesty, somehow, from this morning.

Claude wasn't loitering just outside the door. Instead, he waited for Dimitri to emerge and then left down the stairs to the fishing dock and toward the greenhouse. This late in the evening, there was rarely anyone there except for Dedue or maybe Bernadetta; sure enough, it was empty except for them when the door swung shut behind the prince and the duke.

"So that was nice," Claude said brightly. "And here I thought you were another boring, stuffy noble. It's good to be wrong sometimes."

"Claude..." Dimitri sighed, before deciding to cut through to the heart of it. "Was this spurred on by what happened this morning? When we spoke at the table, you mentioned Cyril being harassed, but not yourself. Why?"

The brunette raised his arms, linking his fingers behind his head. "You saw why," He responded easily. Dimitri flinched, instantly thinking he'd made a mistake, because those green eyes were cold again. "People in Fodlan look at outsiders like they're some kind of monster. I've heard everything that jerk said before and more besides; there have even been attempts on my life."

"That's..." Dimitri stammered, dumbfounded by the implications. More than one attempt on his life? How was that possible? Was Claude's grandfather unwilling to protect him? How...how could Claude look so _calm _while saying that? "That's _horrible_."

Claude shrugged. "The scriptures claim the Goddess said that no one born in Fodlan belongs outside its borders, and no one born outside was chosen by Her." His voice was sour. "Isn't she supposed to be loving and compassionate?"

"That's -" He swallowed his instinctive response hard. "The scripture was written by her children, after Serios defeated Nemesis. Perhaps they made a mistake. I cannot see the goddess saying such things..."

"But don't you?" Claude said, dropping his arms and staring intently at him. "You surprised the hell out of me, you know, barging in and defending the honor of two Almyrans."

"Why would that be _surprising?_" Dimitri protested, offense bubbling up in his throat. If he was going _there..._

"A lot of reasons," Was the even response. _Yes he was._ "You're the prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus; your people have the closest relationship to the church out of everyone in Fodlan. You were raised on those scriptures. You have access to sacred rites that the Emperor no longer does, after the schism. And _you_ have more reason than most to be wary of outsiders. I figured-"

"_It's not like that__**!**_" The words came out like a whip crack; Claude actually jumped back a step at the force of his response. "Duscar...Duscar was a _mistake!_" He let out a harsh breath. "If I am to know your most dangerous secret, Claude, in return let me tell you my greatest shame. _I do not believe Duscar was responsible for my family's death! _The day it happened...the day I lost everyone I loved...the weapons of Duscar are made in particular shapes; _distinctive _ones, forged in accordance to the will of their gods! The sword that tore my father's arm off was _Fodlan made_! The arrows that laid Glenn down had no feathers, no ornamentation! I saw men of Duscar struck down trying to help Glenn and I escape the flames; they put their _lives_ down for us! But...but when I returned home...I failed. I failed to convince my father's council of this! I failed to convey the truth!"

Claude stared wide-eyed at him; he went on almost maniacally, gesticulating with words failed. "My father's men...they lead a massacre of innocent people! Even if men of Duscar had killed my father, the brutality shown upon them...! Dedue's sister, his mother... shopkeepers, farmers, street children...! Even if men of Duscar had been responsible, people who would have had no way of knowing it, no way of stopping it, they were all killed. They died because I failed to sway the very people I am meant to rule over! Because it was easier to blame the _strange, foreign people of Duscar _than attempt to hunt an unknown culprit!"

Dimitri raked a hand through his hair, letting out a seething sob. "Truly, Claude, you may think what you will about me, but do not _ever_ believe I would wish for, or _allow_, any harm to come to you on account of your Almyran blood. May the goddess have mercy on anyone who _tries_, because I won't."

A very still silence hung in the air. It felt oppressive. Dimitri had told precious few people, after that day, about what he'd seen. Even his fellows in the Blue Lions were largely in the dark. The goddess alone knew why he'd just blurted it all out; had the words really felt like an accusation?

"Um...w-well, I clearly shouldn't have said that," Claude managed after a minute, and at any other time Dimitri would have marveled at the other teen being so clearly on the back foot. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like _that; _really, I only figured on understandable distrust and suspicion. You're too much of a knight in shining armor to attack me without provocation."

_A knight in shining armor?, _Dimitri wondered. _For a man as observant as you...you don't even suspect? I suppose you simply haven't had the chance..._ "Apologies for that tirade," He said with a sigh. "That was immature of me."

"Seriously?" Claude shook his head, his expression softening significantly. Dimitri suddenly felt trapped, a mouse mesmerized by a hawk overhead. "You were talking about people going over your head to commit a massacre. I would have been more disturbed if you could talk about that as if it were a mildly interesting day out." He frowned. "Don't you realize how ridiculously brave what you did was? You walked into a room full of bloodthirsty, vengeful soldiers in a borderline frenzy and told them they were _wrong;_ that could have ended _extremely _poorly for you." He raised his palms up. "There wasn't much you _could _have done; you weren't king then; in their eyes, you were just the fragile orphan prince who was confused by his grief."

"Which is a great comfort to Duscar, I'm sure," Dimitri replied bitterly.

"I doubt it would be, but it's true. None of what happened is your fault." Claude said in such a matter of fact way; the sun was hot, water was wet, _it wasn't your fault_. Dimitri almost reeled. "Hey...Dedue is part of your household, right? I guess you've had to defend him from a lot of slander." He actually smiled. "I'm flattered someone like me, from the wrong side of the landscape, was worth the trouble."

"You're correct." Dimitri managed a weak smile in return. "Truly, Claude, if any kingdom soldier gives you trouble, please – tell me immediately. I swear I'll deal with it."

"You're serious..." Was there a little wonder in Claude's voice? "I should have expected as much from you. Old habits die hard, I guess."

"If people have actually tried to kill you over something so petty, you had every right to be wary," Dimitri responded with a shake of his head. "If it is your wish, I won't speak of your heritage to anyone. Though...perhaps someday you won't have to worry over people knowing."

"Someday, when fish can fly and stars can be woven into crowns," Claude deadpanned, but there was no bite in his voice. "I guess you can stop wondering why I look like Cyril now."

"Oh, that." He was a little embarrassed to be reminded of that comment he'd made earlier in the month. "Honestly, I'd meant to remark on how, if he was blessed by the same arcane magic that touched you at birth, he'd grow up to be quite handsome. Yet I only managed to make you anxious instead...I'm sorry."

"Arcane magic?" Claude parroted, blinking rapidly. "What, uh, what exactly is the context for that?"

"Well, it's your Almyran blood, I realize now. It makes you incredibly striking," Dimitri said in all seriousness. "Something about your skin and your eyes...when I first saw you, I thought you'd stepped out of an old northern fable about a star that fell to Fodlan and took on human form. An image that was _somewhat _tarnished the moment you opened your mouth...but not completely. It's no wonder it's so easy for you to charm people."

He expected a joke, a laugh, to be teased, any number of things in response to something that he realized the instant _after _he spoke the words could be construed as a clumsy flirtation.

Instead, however, he was greeted with the unusual sight of Claude von Riegan stunned completely speechless. The brunette's mouth moved silently, green eyes full of a cascading emotion Dimitri wasn't sure he could name. The silence stretched on for several moments, until the prince could finally bear it no more. "You say such pretty things," The brunette said at last, cutting off his worried inquiry. A small smile broke across his face. Small, yes, but _brilliantly_ warm, one that made his expression _glow_. "You know, if you did _something _with that unruly hair of yours, you'd be getting lots of attention yourself."

Dimitri felt his face turn burning red. "Ah...is that right?" He ran a self-conscious hand through his eternally unmanageable locks. "I'll...have to consider that."

"Heh..." Claude's laugh rang through the empty greenhouse, stirring it to life. _Is that his real smile? Goddess, it's amazing. _"I've detained you long enough; we better get back before Dedue starts to think I've kidnapped you. We leave with the princess for live training tomorrow, don't we?" He winked. "I'll see you then."

With that, the enigmatic Riegan heir slipped out of the building, leaving a slightly flustered and very contemplative Dimitri in his wake.

_It's like he's a different person. No...no, that's not quite right. It's not that he changed, it's that he felt safe. _Dimitri looked down at his hands. _It must be lonely; living as a child of two worlds, kept only in one or the other. But what does that mean for us? Can we be friends, Claude von Riegan? _

_Would you feel safe being friends with the boar prince?_

**End Chapter**

_**Right side of my brain: I adore Claude so much, I could play his route a dozen times and never get bored of it.  
Left side of my brain: But playing Blue Lions surprised me with how much I care about and respect Dimitri and want good things to happen to him.  
Right side of my brain: Why not keep both of them then?  
Left side of my brain: (starts drafting plotline)**_

_**My brain is full of Three Houses, send help. I got this idea after playing chapter 19 of the Blue Lions for the first time, right about when Claude hands over Failnaught and bows out. I sat there, sulkily wondering, 'but Claaaude, why can't you come with us?' and then this idea ambushed me. (laughs) Hope you guys like it.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Savior King, the Master Tactition, and the Queen of Liberation**

**Does anyone read these? I dunno. Anyway, I've been writing this story over on A03 for a while, so I have a huge backload of chapters to start posting here. Got a bit carried away, I guess! If you're interested in my A03 site my handle is ReynaAtTheEnd.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem.**

**Chapter** 2

_The one time I run into bandits hungry or stupid enough to try and murder royalty, I get paired up with two rulers who don't know how to beat a strategic retreat, _Claude thought dryly when he glanced over his shoulder and realized he had not, in fact, managed to slip off and circle about on his own. Dimitri and Edelgard were right behind him, and as a consequence, so were the bandits. _Sheesh, do Fodlan generals teach anything besides charging straight ahead? _

Or maybe Dimitri saw him disappear, thought he was using himself as a decoy, and was too bloody noble for his own good. _That sounds about right. _The thought gave him a mix of amusement and a really irritating backflip in his chest. _Gah, this is not the time! _

"Claude," Dimitri gasped out after nearly crashing into a tree, "where are we going?" The bandits shouting was getting closer; give it another few minutes and those axe wielding nutjobs would be right on top of them...

"Remire!," He shouted back, "Hurry up!"

"That's just a tiny farming village!" Edelgard said incredulously. "If we go there, we'll only involve the civilians."

"You need to keep up with the chatter!," He chided her, stomping on his annoyance. It _was _strange on the face of it. "Lately, Remire's been the favorite haunt of the Ashen Demon and their fellow mercenaries, and that's not a fight some run-out-of-the-mill bandit wants to pick!"

"The _Ashen Demon_?" Dimitri parroted, matching his pace with his own as an arrow whipped past, missing them both by a foot. "Claude, that mercenary...! All the stories say that person has no feelings; no pity, no remorse, nothing! Even if they were sympathetic, we have little gold to offer!"

"If you've got a better idea, I'd love to hear it," Claude rasped as they burst out of the trees into a dimly-lit field. "Otherwise, run now and argue strategy later!"

Dimitri choked out a frustrated sentence in what Claude suspected was Old Fodlanese but kept up regardless, repeatedly glancing back to make sure they weren't loosing Edelgard. Fortunately, despite the surprise attack she hadn't gotten hurt at all, only startled awake. Claude, meanwhile, suspected he had bruised ribs judging by the pain radiating from his side. Dimitri's hand was balled into a fist to slow the bleeding in his palm which still had an arrowhead embedded in it.

Claude would give that bandit leader this much credit – it was the first time someone had tried to murder him in his sleep for a while. Fortunately, experience had taught him to keep a knife under his pillow; so he'd been able to slice the tendon of the foot pinning him and free himself before the ax came down on his neck.

Granted, he'd had to immediately throw said knife at the bandit choking Dimitri; it caught the guy in the back of the neck, dropping him. Edelgard then shoved the corpse off of him and the three of them were able to grab their weapons. Of course, they'd quickly been overwhelmed by the sheer _number _of bandits, including two archers, and he'd known they'd had to run for it. Alois was nowhere in sight, nor was the honor guard – a fire in the distance suggested they'd been lured away. With that in mind, Claude had recalled their last location on the map (and the map itself, it must be said) and drew up a plan as quickly as his tired and pain-addled mind would allow.

The Ashen Demon...really, the name was half a myth. Stories trickled in from traveling merchants and artists about a cold, emotionless mercenary who could carve through dozens of enemies with no more effort than dicing vegetables. Of a single swordsman(woman?) facing immense odds and walking out the other side with a nail embedded in one foot and a ship full of corpses to show for it. It was virtually impossible to tell fact from fiction, but after villagers from Remire mentioned the individual repeatedly in the same breath as the mercenary band that had taken to regularly visiting their home...well, he'd planned to investigate under less frantic circumstances, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

They crossed the first plain, then cut across the second one, where the town's iron-wrought gate were illuminated by torches and the late evening sky. Thankfully, they were still open. Good; there had been a couple of moments in running where he'd thought he'd faint from the pain radiating from his side. _Plus we really need to do something about Dimitri's hand. _Hopefully the town had a cleric who could tend to him...

"Hey!" Ah, the gods of fortune were smiling on them after all – rushing through the gates nearly caused him to run right into a pair of men in upscale leather armor and golden earrings. Mercenaries who were skilled enough to thrive in the business showed off their wealth in subtle ways. Be it jewelry, silver weapons, or the latest armor; the more expensive their equipment, the longer they'd been around. And long-lived mercenaries were as valuable as any anointed knight. "What's going on out there?!"

Dimitri staggered to a stop just inside the village, wheezing and clutching his wrist. Claude circled back around to him and grimaced, grabbing his arm when the prince tried to hide the injury in his cloak. The blood seeping out of his impaled palm was getting thick enough to stain most of his hand. "Please tell me you didn't rip the arrowhead out," He said a bit sarcastically.

"I needed my hands free," Dimitri protested. His face was significantly paler than normal, visible even in the low light of the torch. He tried to flex his hand and flinched, grimacing. "I can't use my lance otherwise."

"If you'd left it there, it would have staunched the bleeding _and _you wouldn't have given yourself muscle trauma!" _Seriously, don't Fodlan nobles know _anything _about how to handle war wounds? _"You can't use your lance if you pass out from blood loss!"

Dimitri shook his head. "It's fine, Claude; I've fought with worse than this."

"You can't rely solely on adrenaline to stay conscious! Do that, and you only need to stop for a moment, or get distracted _once_, before you're too light-headed to do anything but collapse. I can cover you against three or four of them, maybe, if I had a good bow and favorable terrain, but if you pass out in the middle of the field I can't fight and carry you!"

"I take it you kids are in trouble?" One of the mercenaries said dryly, causing Dimitri to start and Edelgard to make an exasperated noise. Claude turned back to the twosome and noted that they both had visible scars, and similar-looking ones to boot. So either they were working as a pair...or they were part of a company that was currently in town.

The other took a step closer and hissed at the sight of Dimitri's hand. "Damn, that's nasty. You were ambushed, weren't you?"

"Yes; they came while we were asleep." Dimitri said, quickly burying his surprise under his usual princely demeanor. "Forgive us; this was the only place we could reach with them right on our heels." Distant shouts echoed across the plains behind them. "There were too many of them for us. We...are still in training, after all."

The two mercenaries looked at each other for a moment, then out at the plains. "Hell...they _look _like kids," The first one sighed. "More pro-bono work. Well, whatever – we needed to break in the new horses at some point."

"I'll go get Captain Jeralt and his girl," His friend said, glancing at Dimitri. "She'll be able to take care of his hand."

The first one snorted. "She can do that and a whole lot more."

"I _know_. I try not to think about that sometimes." With that totally-not-ominous remark hanging in the air, the man disappeared up the road.

That gave Claude a moment to address something that was bothering him. "Hey, Dimitri, remind me – how _did_ you end up with an arrowhead in your hand? Did one of the bandits use it in place of a knife?" He hadn't _seen _the guy he'd managed to knock off holding an arrow, but maybe he'd been looking from a wrong angle.

"Oh..." Dimitri blinked, and shook his head. A look of unease crossed his face. "No. I had...a premonition, I guess. I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye and brought my hand up in front of my face."

"...You need better gauntlets." Claude said, his voice carefully dry and observant. _A 'premonition?' Is that what you call those little things you try so hard not to react to? A little thing visceral enough to make you throw your hand in front of your face, inadvertently saving yourself? _"Can you not buy anything hardier than the standard handouts all students get from the blacksmith?"

Dimitri looked ruefully down at his trembling, bloody hand. "I came here with a limited allowance; the same as you, I wager, seeing as you have little to no armor at all."

Claude rolled his eyes a bit. _Has anyone told you you're too bloody noble for your own good? _"I'm an archer. If I let people get close enough to stab me, I'm already up a creek."

"Truly talented archers are capable of firing point blank," Edelgard said, her tone slightly lofty. "It's considered an important skill in the Empire. Something worth considering, perhaps?"

Claude made a production of looking contemplative. Before he could fire off a witty retort, the crunch of feet on the gravel and a booming baritone heralded the arrival of their saviors. "What's the situation?" The old man asked; he had the voice of someone who was used to being obeyed, someone who demanded respect, and someone who did not suffer fools lightly. The three of them basically turned around as one, as sure as if one of the teachers had caught them misbehaving.

Claude's first impression of Jeralt the Blade Breaker was _holy shit are you actually a walking mountain?, _because the man towered over him even more than Nader or his own father. His blue eyes were steely and impassive as they swept over him, Dimitri and Edelgard, assessing them, deciding whether or not this was a trap. He wore heavy leather and fur, with a lance strapped over his shoulder and a sword at his belt. Also, he looked muscular enough to bodily lift Marianne with his left hand and Hilda with his right without even breaking a sweat. Scars cut rough edges into his rugged face, old and faded ones that spoke of many hard won battles. Claude could admit to feeling a little bit of awe, just as his eyes slid to the figure right behind him and the world tilted quite suddenly.

A lithe silent shadow trotted to a halt at her father's board shoulder, impassive blue eyes meeting his evenly with the barest hint of curiosity. She was freakishly tall as well, having at least three inches on both him _and _Dimitri (which was just unfair) and slender figure built solely of hard muscle and smooth, tempting curves that even the loose-fitted robes of a swordmaster couldn't conceal. She had a blade buckled to her belt, a quiver and a cheap but reliable bow slung over her shoulder. Dark blue hair swept down to her pale neck, cut practically short and pinned away from her face by silver clasps; the only thing she seemed to possess that was at all expensive. The scars she had that he could see, tracing sharp lines across her collarbone, circling the crown of her head, and nicking her jaw, hardly detracted from the divine sight – nah; they _enhanced _it. Did she have more, concealed by those long sleeves?

_Whoa, down princeling! Your Almyran tastes are showing. _

Admittedly, her complete lack of expression was a distracting enough that he didn't say or do anything ill advised with her scowling father standing right in front of him.

"Forgive our intrusion. We wouldn't bother you if the situation weren't dire." Dimitri said, keeping an admirable straight face even though Claude bloody well knew he'd had to mentally pick his jaw up off the ground. A quick glance at Edelgard and what do you know, they were all in agreement about something!

The living mountain – the captain, Jeralt (was it _that _Jeralt? The famed Captain of the Knights?) – raised a solitary eyebrow. "What are a couple of kids like you doing out at this hour?"

"We're being pursued by some bandits. I can only hope you'd be willing to lend your support." Dimitri bowed politely; Claude amused himself by imagining Acheron throwing a shrieking fit at the mere thought of showing respect and deference to someone of lower social standing. _If the prince who lives and breathes chivalry can humble himself without complaint, what does that make you, weasel? _

"It's true!" Edelgard jumped in, gazing exclusively at the girl. "We were resting in camp when they jumped us."

"We've been separated from our companions, and we're outnumbered," He tossed in casually. "They're after our lives...not to mention our gold."

The swordswoman tilted her head, then walked forward in silent steps and took hold of Dimitri's injured hand. She frowned, studying the gory wound for a long moment, before placing her other palm over it. Claude was pretty damn surprised when a flare of white magic surrounded the prince's bloody skin, wiping away the injury as though it had never been. _Okay, since when do physically inclined fighters have aptitude for faith magic? _

"Thank you," Dimitri said gratefully, flexing his fingers easily in wonder. "Claude is injured as well – one of the bandits tried to kick his ribs in."

Without a word of acknowledgment, her attention swung straight over to him. If he swallowed when she placed her hand on his side, pretty face lightly bent with concentration, he blamed it on the disorienting run and lack of sleep. The blessed warmth washing the pain away also made for a half decent story.

"I'm surprised you're so calm, considering the situation," The Captain said dryly. Something changed in his expression when he looked closer at them. "Wait...that uniform..."

"Captain Jeralt, sir!" Another mercenary ran up to them, panting for breath. "Bandits have surrounded the village. The ones south are trying to start fires. We've moved the civilians further in, but-"

"Right. I'm on my way." Jeralt rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a tired sigh. The mercenary nodded and darted off the way he'd came, taking the two from earlier with him. "All bark and no brains, these ones." He turned to his daughter and said without preamble, "Kid, you see that?" He pointed out the front gates. The bandits had left the forest and were making their way towards them.

She nodded once. He smirked at that and said, "Good. You're in charge here. No one gets in, no one falls, and these three are your responsibility. I'll take care of the fires."

"Wait, what?" Claude said blankly. Jeralt ignored him, whistling sharply. A large gray stallion shot up the road to his side; without breaking stride, he grabbed the bridle and saddled up before the animal even came to a stop. Then he vanished towards the smoke, leaving just the four of them to protect the entrance to town.

"He can't seriously expect you to fight alone?" Dimitri blurted in surprise. "There have to be at least nine of them – ah, my lady?"

She strode past him, out to the mouth of the gates, one hand dropping easily to her sword hilt. Pausing in the grass, head tilted slightly, she waited, fingers idly tapping against the weapon's guard. After a tense moment of silent planning, she turned around and openly sized them up. What little light had been in her eyes the moment before was gone, replaced by a blank coolness.

"You." His pulse jumped quite without his permission at that rich, resonant contralto. That was an incredibly deep voice for a girl no older than him. "Do you have anything to defend yourself with up close?"

Claude shook his head and gave her his most charming smile. "Unfortunately, I lost my knife in a bandit's neck a while back."

"Mm." She drew her sword – a good steel blade, well maintained – and pointed at a thicket further up the plain. "That's your vantage point. Take out anyone you can reach; I will cover you." Her gaze swung over to Edelgard. "You, take him" she nodded at Dimitri "and make yourself visible further to the right. Let them come to you, and fight together. If one of you gets injured, retreat into the thicket and make use of these." She pulled a number of familiar looking vials out of her coat. Concoctions, unless Claude missed his guess. She shook them pointedly, causing the royals to quit staring and accept the gift. "The cover will provide you a few seconds of reprieve. It may limit your movement, however, so bear that in mind."

She glanced at Claude and said very matter-of-factly, "I will go out ahead and engage them. Your job is to hit them, and try not to hit me." Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away. "Get going. They're almost on us."

It was almost hilarious how all three of them immediately scrambled to obey. Claude would have liked to blame flashbacks to Judith and her frequent use of what he called her '_listen, brat, and listen well' _voice; that flat order was almost as intimidating despite the lack of an age gap.

He reached the tree with no problems; his head was much clearer without constantly spiking pain to distract him. The blue haired teen – dammit, he hadn't gotten her fucking _name –_ raced ahead of him, attracting the attention of three enemies. The nine bandits were spread out, the biggest and baddest of them (and thus likely the boss) hanging back with two goons flanking him. A few headed off toward Dimitri and Edelgard, but the others seemed to figure that the single woman made for an easier target. He took out an arrow, notched it and waited.

The mysterious girl's first opponent swung his ax in a wild arc; she jerked her blade up, catching it in the curve and wrenching the weapon from his grip, sending it flying into the grass. Immediately she lashed out driving her foot into his gut and sending him a few steps backward, before bringing her sword down. The blade hacked across his face and dug into his chest. His choked scream indicated she'd hit a lung; she drew back and cut sideways, slicing open his throat. Blood splattered her gauntlets as he fell to the ground. She stepped over her pray without pausing, the battle over in mere moments, approaching the two behind him with easy grace.

Letting out a sharp breath, he aimed for one and – keeping movement in mind – fired. She didn't even flinch at the arrow tearing past her to hit one of her enemies dead in the eye; she shifted her stance accordingly and ducked under a graceless swing aimed at her head. Her sword turned sharply and sliced the tendons on the brigand's leg, bringing him down to one knee as she reoriented herself. If her sword biting into the neck didn't kill the man, then the arrow buried in his collarbone did.

Flicking her blade in a gesture that was a bit too deliberate to be contemptuous, she stowed the weapon away and slung the bow off her back. A roar from further up the field told him what's she'd seen – the boss's two goons were charging. She casually strung two arrows and fired; it was a bit far from where he stood, but he was pretty sure she hit one of them in the thigh and the stomach, dropping him before he got within a dozen feet of her. She jumped back a foot as his partner approached, bow pointed straight at the man's face.

Perfect Point-Blank firing posture. She was highly proficient in at least two weapon types, enough to transfer between them without breaking stride? He felt a twinge of inadequacy even as his third arrow struck home, staggering the brigand right before she put an arrow through his throat.

_The tides of battle turn rapidly, don't they?, _he thought with perhaps more glee than necessary. Hey, just because he was familiar with murder attempts didn't mean he didn't resent them.

His thoughts were interrupted by a high, familiar string of whistled notes. His heart sped up; gods, how many times had he heard Nader use that old standby? Her troupe must have spent some time in Almyra. That signal meant that there was a change in plans without any dialogue getting lost in the chaos of the battlefield. He stepped out of the tree's shade; she nodded, the gesture barely visible, before gesturing sharply toward Edelgard and Dimitri.

The royals were managing, though they seemed to be flagging a bit. Dimitri had gotten himself hurt – _again! _– judging by the way he was holding his lance, and Edelgard seemed to be favoring one leg. The girl pointed to a tree closer to them and then darted off, sword in hand.

Really, the brigand stood no chance. He was too preoccupied with Dimitri to notice the girl coming up behind him. Just as Claude reached the tree, he watched her smash the hit of her sword into the enemy face – likely obliterating his jaw, given the cringe-inducing _crack _he could hear despite the distance – allowing Dimitri to shove his lance into the gut and finish him off. With her managing the prince, Claude took aim again and took out the knee of Edelgard's opponent. He crashed to the ground and was promptly decapitated.

_Is that all of-? No, of course not, the boss... _The man was making his way toward them, clutching a throwing ax in one hand. _Yeah, because that worked out so well for your friends._ Claude whistled sharply, getting the girl's attention. If he was the big man in charge, he'd probably be harder to kill than his grunts.

She drove the tip of her sword into the ground, slung her bow off her back and fired. The first shot went wide, but as the man turned to face her directly, the second shot glanced off his arm and a third one sank into his stomach. He didn't fall like the others; clearly he had some actual armor. Claude debated trying to go for a headshot, but the brigand was running away from him and toward his companions, so it wouldn't do to miss.

Fortunately, she didn't need help. She just dropped her bow, pulled her sword free of the dirt and feinted left; his attack missed her as she danced aside and swung her sword upward, slicing his nose judging by the murky screech that followed it. Again she spun past his sloppy retaliation, crouching and cashing into him with her full weight. When he hit the ground, she reversed her grip on her sword and slammed it into his face once, twice, three times. Then paused.

A few seconds went by. Claude licked his dry lips and silently lamented his weakness for men and women who could take him on in a straight fight. _After yesterday, that is _so _unfair. Why show me a menu I can't eat from? _

The girl got up, casually wiping her sword on the body of her last victim. Something prickled at the back of Claude's brain, the ease, the casualness of it...she wasn't even injured, was she? He stepped out into the open again, walking over to Dimitri and Edelgard where they stood aside from the bodies. It was all over except for the bleeding.

"Done," Her voice broke the early morning silence. Their rescuer was kneeling in the mud, collecting her bow. She still had a few arrows left; by contrast, his own quill was empty.

"Are..are you uninjured?" Dimitri managed, somehow sounding both awestruck and almost wary within the same breath.

"I'm fine," She replied absently, examining her weapon with a frown. "Damn, the string is broken again. That's a nuisance."

He suppressed a chuckle and asked, "Is that all you have to say?" Her eyes turned to him, cool and empty except for the faintest curiosity. Was she carved from stone? "That's an awfully subdued reaction from someone who cut down five bandits in as many minutes."

"Technically, two of those kills were yours," She responded with a shrug. "Your support was appreciated; I was able to escape without injury this time." She looked over at Dimitri and Edelgard. "You all acquitted yourself quite well, for amateurs."

Claude's burst of laughter was almost involuntary. It wasn't often that someone casually dissed the three most important heirs on the continent! "Ah, you got us there! Oh dear."

"Claude...!" Dimitri groaned in exasperation...though his voice had much less bite in it than it might have a week ago. "That's no way to show gratitude."

He bowed with a wink. "I assure you, I am entirely grateful to our glorious war goddess." She shifted on one foot, blinking rapidly. "It's because of you I'm not dead right now. Thanks for that!" He smiled playfully. "I'd heard there were mercenaries lingering in Remire, but I didn't think you were _this _good."

"That's true," Edelgard mused, regarding the girl intently.

Claude was finally about to ask for her name when a yell cut them off. Somehow – _somehow, _considering how freakin' bloody his face was – the brigand leader was back on his feet. And he was running straight for the princess.

Something rippled in the air; he could swear it, he felt something shift, could taste magic like ozone surrounding them as thick as rain. But in a blink, the girl moved again, throwing herself in front of Edelgard and catching her sword in the curve of the man's ax. She jerked backward, wrenching the weapon away from its wielder and launching it somewhere in the woods. The brigand staggered backwards, breath heaving, staring at her.

"You..." He gurgled, "It's you. That soulless creature...the Ashen Demon."

Claude heard Dimitri suck in a sharp breath next to him; a chill of vindication swept over the alarm and surprise that had ruled him only moments ago. The girl, however, merely sighed. "My father warned me that name would stick," She remarked with tired irritation. She brought her bloody steel blade up and pointed it at his chest. "You should have played dead. Goodbye."

A death threat had never sounded so gentle and serene.

Evidently, that was too much for the brigand, because he turned and booked it, fleeing into the forest like a terrified child. The girl, as soon as he was gone, smacked her palm against her forehead. "Bloody stupid, basic mistake," She berated herself. "Cut off the head, sever limbs, and if you don't do that, _always _check for breathing. Goddess damn it." She looked back at Edelgard. "I'm sorry. That was sloppy of me."

Edelgard recovered quickly for someone who'd nearly been gutted, and shook her head earnestly. "He took several blows to the face! That would stop most men. Please, don't trouble yourself. You saved me, again."

The neigh of a horse cut Dimitri's concern off; Jeralt appeared from the village. Looking at the sky showed that the smoke was clearing up. He must have come as soon as he finished up on his end. "That was...Byleth, did you just...?" He looked worried.

Huh. That was weird. And the weirder thing was...she kind of looked confused too.

Naturally, after everything was over and questions were laying thick in the air..._that _was when Alois thundered into the clearing, the knights at his side, bellowing about how justice had arrived. "We shall cut you down for terrorizing our students!" He raised his ax triumphantly, only to be thwarted by the empty clearing and fleeing bandits. "Wait, they're getting away! After them!"

Claude rolled his eyes and called out cheerfully, "Sir Alois! You missed all the excitement!" Dimitri facepalmed, and he could just _hear _Edelgard rolling her eyes at him. The girl...Byleth, Jeralt called her...tensed up, one hand dropping to her sword.

Jeralt groaned as Alois hurried towards them. He dismounted and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "It's alright, kid. He's no threat." She relaxed, before offering up her broken bow with an apologetic look. "Don't worry about that...I'd been meaning to buy you a new one anyhow."

Alois skidded to a halt in front of the mountain of a man, eyes widening comically. "C-Captain Jeralt? Is that you?! Goodness, it's been ages!" Byleth started visibly. Wasn't that interesting? "Don't you recognize me?! It's Alois! Your old right hand man! At least, that was how I thought of myself. It must have been – what – twenty years ago when you vanished without a trace?! I always knew you were still alive!"

Jeralt sighed. "You haven't changed a bit, Alois, just as loud as ever." Claude smothered a snicker in his hand. Dimitri tried to look disapproving, but the twitch of his lip betrayed him. "And drop that 'captain' nonsense. I'm not your captain anymore. These days I'm just a wandering mercenary. One who has work to do." He nodded. "You've got the kids back unharmed; you'd better return to the school. I'll see you around, old friend." He made to walk off. Byleth looked back and forth, then tried to follow him.

Ser Alois spluttered a bit, before saying, "Wait! This is not how this conversation ends! I _insist _that you come back to the monastery with me."

Jeralt stopped walking and stood very, very still. Claude's eyes narrowed.

So Jeralt hadn't gone missing, he'd chosen to leave without explanation, leaving everything he'd known – and everything he'd gained as the most prestigious Knight of Seiros – without a backwards glance. The man's body language screamed that he didn't want to go back, but he had no way to refuse without looking suspicious as hell. Yet another mystery dangled just out of his reach, begging to be solved. As if he didn't have enough to dig through...especially now.

_Why are Fodlan's borders closed...where do the relics come from...the riddle of Duscar's tragedy...and now, why did the strongest man who ever lived run away from the church? _

Byleth walked over and placed a hand on her father's wrist. The gesture was small and concerned, and it was the most visible emotion he'd seen from her since the start. "Garreg Mach Monastery." Jeralt enunciated heavily. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. "I guess this was inevitable."

_And one more, _Claude added with perhaps greater curiosity than the rest, _What happened to his daughter that she seems less alive than the statues of the saints?_

**End Chapter**

_**This story has three rotating protagonist viewpoints for chapters - it goes Dimitri, then Claude, then Byleth, then Dimitri again.**_

_**Read and Review please!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**The Savior King, the Master Tactition, and the Queen of Liberation**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem**

**Chapter 3**

As much as she could say she had emotions, Byleth was quite confounded.

Her father was – with the exception of her mother – not a sentimental man. It had never struck her as odd that he didn't talk about his past. She'd never felt the need to ask (she'd never felt much of anything) where he'd come from before her birth, or why they never lingered in one place for very long. He avoided the church in spite of how precious faith was to members of their own team, so she followed his lead – he never did things without a reason. Why did it matter where he'd come from? He was there with her, that was all that mattered.

Or so she'd thought.

Her mind was whirling as her father vanished back into Remire with that knight, to inform the band of their change in plans. Her father had been a captain, an immensely important man, and now they were going somewhere he would rather avoid. He seemed resigned to it. Why not refuse? Why did he leave in the first place? What in the seventh hell was happening?!

And after that happened earlier...

The girl Edelgard...the power...Sothis...

Byleth bit her lip hard; __something __indescribable was bubbling violently in her chest and it greatly discomforted her. Though perhaps that was only to be expected, since she had nearly died.

It wasn't the first time she'd brushed with death; she'd been fighting alongside her father ever since she was old enough to properly wield a sword. But it __was __the first time she would have died for sure without intervention – __divine __intervention, at that. The thought was...discomforting, for lack of any better descriptor. She reached up and rubbed her left shoulder; she couldn't quite reach the place near her spine where the ax would have come down. There was a twinge of phantom pain there, an ache just strong enough to gnaw at the back of her mind.

__It will not linger overlong, __a familiar girl's voice promised. __'Tis merely an echo of what might have been. You did live through the moment, after all.__

Byleth bit her lip, letting her hand fall down to her side. __I see, __she thought 'back' at the strange green haired girl she'd dreamed of all her life.

Sothis hummed. __It is a good thing. That would have been a shameful way to go, would it not?__

__...Would it have been truly shameful to die saving another?, __Byleth asked in turn, wondering. It was true she did not know Edelgard, but to imply that her life was not worth saving, even at great expense – well, the thought did not sit right with her.

__It is a far greater thing to ____**live **____for another than to die for them, __Sothis responded sternly, the childish amusement gone from her voice. __If you are to forget everything else I say to you, you must remember that above all. Promise me that right now!__

__I swear it, __Byleth responded quickly and seriously, bewildered by the sudden change in mood. Sothis was mercurial, lazy, and sharp tongued, but her moods up to this point had been playful, exasperated and contemplative – to invoke such a tone must be intentional, to add more weight to the words. She did not know what manner of spirit the girl was (a guardian spoken of in Brigid's myths? A lord of the rising dawn as described by Almyra? A sky god of Duscar? An emissary of Fodlan's goddess?) but it was clear that she was older than her appearance suggested, and likely more powerful than Byleth could imagine.

Only a fool ignored the warnings of the divine.

__Good, __Sothis responded, pleased, her demeanor reverting as quickly as it had changed. __I shall hold you to that, Byleth Eisner. __She chuckled lightly. __Ah, it seems your presence is required. Get going!__

Blinking, Byleth cast her eyes about, instinctively looking for her father. There was no sign of him, however – instead, her eyes fell upon the three lordlings they had saved, all of whom were clearly watching her. Edelgard smiled and gestured lightly with one hand, asking without words for a moment of her time in an almost coy manner.

She paused. As a rule, her father handled contracts and business. But this wasn't such, was it? No doubt a couple of young aristocrats who'd just suffered a near-death experience would feel inclined to keep a powerful warrior close by, especially if this was the first time they'd realized they could, in fact, die violently just as the common person did. There was little she had to offer in the way of conversation, and her instinct was to wait until her father returned.

But...they were young as her, perhaps younger. Byleth spent precious little time around anyone outside her fellow mercenaries, all of whom were – if not peers of her father – older than her by a not insignificant margin. Perhaps...it couldn't hurt to see what they wanted?

Hesitantly, she made her way over to them.

"I appreciate your help back there," The silver haired ax maiden said with impeccable politeness. Her purple eyes swept over Byleth in a way that made her skin tingle, a sensation she couldn't even begin to explain. "Your skill is without question. The Ashen Demon...I must confess, I had thought you to be a myth. A combination of various mercenary teams attributed to a single individual. Obviously, I was wrong."

"It...is no trouble," Byleth hedged uncertainly. "My father doesn't like that name much. It is not used as a selling point."

"Your father, that would be Jeralt the Blade Breaker, wouldn't it?" Edelgard assumed a thinking pose. "Former Captain of the Knights of Seiros, often praised as the strongest man who ever lived. Am I missing anything?"

"I didn't know he was a captain," She said honestly, feeling as much up in the air as when she'd ridden with the mercenary Hannah on a borrowed pegasus.

Edelgard blinked in surprise. "How curious. I'd wager the explanation for that is fascinating indeed."

"Hey," Claude interjected, smiling brightly at her. Byleth turned slightly toward the archer; __isn't that strange? His expression is so warm...yet his eyes are closed off from me. __"You are coming with us to the monastery, right? Of course you are. I'd love to bend your ear as we travel."

__You want to talk to me?, __Byleth thought in confusion. __Aren't you unnerved by me? Isn't that why that smile of yours isn't quite sincere? __Perhaps it was a matter of honor; nobles were often quite hung up on that. It would be 'rude' to blatantly ignore her after she'd saved his life, so he would speak to her despite her disturbing disposition?

"Oh!, I should mention that the three of us are students at Garreg Mach Monastery. We were doing some training exercises when those bandits attacked." He raised both his hands. "On average, I'd say it was my third most disastrous camping trip."

"Third?" Dimitri, the blonde knightly young man, repeated blankly. "Dare I ask what you're ranking above us nearly having our throats slit in our sleep?"

Claude chuckled. "Maybe some other time. It's up there, though, if only because I was the only one who knew out to beat a strategic retreat." He sighed. "Alas, I looked back and found every single one of those bandits chasing the three of us, leaving me to improvise. Again."

Dimitri's eye twitched. "So __that's __what you were doing? And here I thought you were being a decoy for the sake of us all. Pray tell, how was I supposed to interpret that amidst the perfectly rational panic we were experiencing?"

"His intentions were as clear as day," Edelgard replied chidingly. Byleth decided that the three must know each other quite well to bicker so easily after having nearly lost their lives. "You will prove a lacking ruler if you cannot see the truth behind a person's words." __Wait. What. Ruler?__

Distracted from remonstrating his comrade, Dimitri chuckled lightly and retorted, "You will prove a lacking ruler yourself if you look for deceit behind every word and fail to trust the people around you."

Ruler. An able ruler. Byleth didn't quite have the words for the sinking feeling in her stomach when she looked between Edelgard and Dimitri, various memories twigging in her brain about how the Empire and the Kingdom's current heirs were her age...a boy and a girl, not yet at their majority, who quite possibly were sent off to finish their studies before taking the throne. __You fought well for amateurs, __her own words rang in her head like a roaring fire. She swallowed in a hopefully unobtrusive way. __Oh goddess, did I just sass the Prince of Faerghus and the Princess of Adrestia? After ordering them around like common mercenaries?__

"Oh joy, a royal debate between their highnesses," Claude snarked. Byleth felt her face burn and resisted the urge to bolt for her father. __Yes, yes I have. __A musical giggle did nothing to soothe her newfound anxiety – Sothis, the cruel wretch, was laughing at her! If they held a grudge, her father and their troupe could be blacklisted in both kingdoms! There was nothing funny about this! "I wonder how being predicable affects one's ability to rule." His grin took on a sharper, teasing edge. "As the embodiment of distrust, I'd say your little exchange is rather idealistic!"

Both heirs pivoted to scowl at him. "Me, idealistic?" Edelgard demanded, indignant. "Tell me, are you physically incapable of keeping quiet, or is your lack of self awareness a condition of some sort?!"

"Is that so wrong, Claude?" Dimitri asked, looking exasperated. "It might do you well to be less suspicious yourself."

Byleth's eyes darted between the three lordings – between the __prince and princess argh what – __wondering if she should take this chance to escape. Once they recovered, they might forget all about her in favor of arguing over who should have done what during the attack...

"Ah, but forgive our digression," No dice; Dimitri returned his attention to her at that very moment. "I must speak with you, if you could spare a moment."

Byleth might have sighed, if she was capable of much expression. __Here we go, __she thought in resignation.

"The way you held your ground against the bandit's leader was captivating," The prince said earnestly, causing her to blink twice. __What. __"You never lost control of the situation. You're an immensely capable woman; it showed me I still have much to learn." __What?__

"Your skill is precisely why I must ask you to consider lending your skill to the Empire," Edelgard said confidently. Byleth blinked again, the bewilderment she felt ratcheting up beyond anything she'd ever experienced before. "I might as well tell you now, I am no mere student. In truth-"

"Halt, Edelgard," Dimitri interrupted, looking affronted. "At least allow me to finish my own proposition." He bowed to her. Him, a __prince__, bowed to a common, disturbed mercenary! She felt warmth in her cheeks and resisted the odd urge to tug at her hair. "The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in dire need of exceptional individuals like yourself. Please, do consider returning to the kingdom with me."

Byleth shot a quick glance at the treeline, just to make sure the sun was, in fact, rising in the east. Because what else could possibly explain __this__?

"Whoa, there!" Claude laughed, giving his two companions a mock-disapproving stare. "Trying to recruit someone you just met...tactless, really." Byleth's relief lasted roughly three seconds before he followed that up with, "I was personally planning to develop a deep and lasting friendship on our way back to the monastery before begging for favors." He shrugged dramatically and gave her another intimately friendly smile. "But it seems there's no time for niceties in this world. So, capable stranger, where does your allegiance lie?"

It sounded like a joke, but how could she be sure of that?!

"I'm a mercenary," She protested, amazed that her voice remained as calm and even as ever. "I swear by the sword before politics. I have no permanent home, and I move where the job takes me. I cannot answer that!" Wracking her brain, she tried to think of something to say that would satisfy at least one of the absurdly powerful teenagers in front of her. "I, I am a sword for hire. Whenever a moment arises, I am at your disposal. Myself and my father, that is."

She waited for a response for an agonizingly long second. Claude responded first...by clapping, "A clever answer, and one that fits the job," He said playfully. "It's a hard bargain, though. The two of you together are an expensive prospect! What would it cost just for you?"

Byleth's pulse jumped. (That so rarely happened) ...Despite her skill, attempts to poach her from Jeralt's Mercenaries were rare. She unnerved people with her coldness, her lack of expression, the lack of humanity. Why didn't he...__those eyes are deep and dark, mysterious as the ocean...what is it that he desires when he looks at me? I...an so unfamiliar with this. I don't know what to do. Father, help me!__

"There you are!" The loud knight's voice came to her rescue – at least for the moment. They turned to see her father and the man – Ser Alois – standing just a few feet away. "Come, it's time for us to go! I know you're likely tired, but it's better that we return to the monastery as soon as possible!"

"I doubt your attackers will come back for a second go-around," Jeralt contributed, arms crossed, "but concerning you three, it's better safe than sorry. We're about ready to move out; if necessary, you can rest in the supply carts on the way."

"Got it," Claude said blithely. "Guess we'll pick this up another time."

Byleth let out a breath and headed over to her father. He squeezed her arm, smiling sympathetically at her. It restored her equilibrium somewhat. __I can ask him on the way, surely.__

__My my, everyone is in such a hurry, __Sothis said with a yawn. __You know...each of them is most unique.__

__...It's true, __Byleth acknowledged, glancing over her shoulder at the three lords. They were following behind her, talking amongst themselves again, but still clearly keeping her in their sights. __Claude...he's welcoming, yet guarded. He has not shared his true self with me, or perhaps anyone. Dimitri...everything he does, all his movements – in battle and off – are carefully controlled. He's very sincere, yet something is weighing on him. And Edelgard...she's refined, yet she looks at me the way a blacksmith regards a fine sword. Carefully judging, wondering what the price is.__

__Yes, I thought the same, __Sothis mused. __Something significant has happened here, Byleth. It means something...I must sleep on this...__

__You 'need' to sleep on bloody everything, __Byleth grumbled.

Sothis did not dignify that with a response.

Roughly two hours later, Byleth realized she had greatly underestimated Claude's tenacity, Edelgard's fascination, and Dimitri's chivalrous need to keep her included in conversation. These proved to be the longest and most confusing hours of her life so far. Her father's men weren't this interested in her. __Sothis __wasn't this interested in her! As they traveled and the sun rose, Alois had become bound and determined to keep her father talking. His jovial remarks about this and that thing that had happened in the Blade Breaker's absence filled the air without end; leaving Byleth adrift and bewildered.

Her father's men were grumbling a bit, annoyed that their guaranteed paycheck in the Kingdom was put on hold and wondering what exactly was going on with their boss. It seemed they had been as much in the dark about her father's past as she was. The Knights of Seiros occasionally gave her curious looks, but largely remained silent guards at the front and back of their impromptu caravan.

However, for the first time that she could remember, this did not mean that Byleth had been left with alone with her thoughts and Sothis's voice.

"You're trained in hand-to-hand as well?" Edelgard said, her tone somehow both impressed and skeptical. "To juggle three disciplines simultaneously is a daunting prospect. Most students at Garreg Mach are limited to two!"

"I learned sword and the bow first," Byleth clarified, "Brawling came later, as did the lance – and I cannot say I am very proficient in the latter. It is useful to have multiple ways of approaching a fight, and being able to enter tournaments is a good way to shore up the accounts when the troupe is between jobs."

"And Holy magic?" Claude asked slyly. "That threw me for a loop. It's so rare that anyone outside of mages and priests have any aptitude for it."

"Is that right?" She shrugged. "I'm not sure what to say; I've always had a knack for it."

He actually __pouted __in response, clearly not believing that she was being honest with him. __He is such a strange lord! __Even compared to Dimitri and Edelgard, who were clearly putting effort into making her comfortable, he was casual and coarse and __nothing __like the usual haughty or cold (cruel, heartless) men her father was occasionally contracted by. She kept finding her eyes drawn to him, to his golden skin and mysterious green eyes and friendly disposition, and feel a tug of some nameless foreign feeling. Whenever she fell out of step with him, she would speed up or slow down until they matched again. It was silly, and she couldn't explain it even to herself. Was it just because he was a handsome man? Surely not. Even as she'd grown into her body, she'd felt very little emotional or physical inclination towards intimacy.

Such things were associated with a humanity that had always been lost to her.

Yet she couldn't deny...what she could only describe as a curiosity. Why didn't that warm, welcoming smile – a look so very few people had directed at her – reach his eyes? What melancholy made him reserve himself? Perhaps it was merely meant to ensnare her...__that thought should offend or worry me, yet it doesn't__. Being troubled was not something she experienced, after all, no more than anything else. All she felt was a tugging need to know, to understand...

...To repay the strange feeling his bright smile gave her.

Which wasn't to say she wasn't curious about the others. Dimitri seemed more relaxed now; his posture less rigid, his gaze less distracted. It definitely brought out his gentler features; he looked every inch a prince, a man who valued that aspect of his being quite deeply.

That was not something Byleth saw overmuch; her job exposed her to many freaks, fools and monsters, but the times she ran into actual knights and heroes...well, the results were often memorable, for good or for ill. His fascination bewildered her, to be sure, but his earnestness was charming. It was odd to think of him as the prince of the holy kingdom within the cold north; she would have thought him aloof, chilly or even slightly hostile to a mercenary such as herself. After all, those who sold their swords to the highest bidder were not famous for upholding the sacred laws of the church.

Edelgard...her fascination was a tangible thing. Byleth wouldn't say she was discomforted...just uncertain what it __meant__. Appraising eyes had found her a few times before, and it had made her father irritable. To this day, Byleth wasn't certain why.

"Being able to heal has proven invaluable," She insisted in the face of Claude's disbelief. "Particularly when I'm sent to retrieve hostages." She rubbed her left arm, feeling for an old scar that ran up to her wrist.

"Have you taken many such jobs?" Dimitri asked curiously.

"Some," Byleth nodded, her thumb idly tracing the line beneath her coat. "The first time involved slavers; pirates raiding the northern Alliance border to keep the salt mines running." She blinked and mused, "I think that was when people started calling me by that title. Odd, in retrospect. I did not cut a very imposing figure at thirteen."

"Wait, I heard about that..." Claude said slowly, "One of the ships drifted ashore, the mast burning and a lower deck covered in corpses. That was __you__?"

"Not wholly me," Byleth frowned slightly, "I had infiltrated the hold, posing as a slave, to ensure they couldn't massacre the 'merchandise' before we rescued them. Father and the mercenaries dealt with those above deck."

"They didn't take your weapons?" Edelgard inquired.

"I hid razor blades in my hair." Byleth shrugged. "After I killed the first two, I stole a bow off a corpse and used the door to pick off the rest who approached via the hall. It was a very favorable position; most of them died before I ran out of arrows. I had to improvise a bit at that point; fortunately, the first mate was drunk, and I've always been unusually strong considering my slight frame."

"You were so young..." Dimitri sounded faintly incredulous.

Byleth looked quizzically at him. "Do you not start weapons training at five in the Kingdom? I was a bit older than that when I began to learn from my father."

"Well, yes...but you cannot be made a squire, or be sent to the officer's academy, before you turn fifteen. It's too dangerous, otherwise."

"I had never thought of it that way," She said, unsure what to parse from that remark. "Though I suppose my upbringing was not typical, even for a common born mercenary. Father was always on the move, and as a consequence so was I. I've lived in so many places they've become a blur, I've wandered the shores of Almyra and the forests of Brigid..." She looked up at the sky. "And father always worked so hard for my sake...one day, I decided I wanted to help. So I learned how to wield blades and arrows, applied myself with the whole of my concentration." She dragged a foot lightly in the dirt, shifting gravel as they walked. "Now I fight alongside father. It never felt unnatural. It just was what it was."

"So you've never wanted to do anything else?" Claude asked lightly. "Never wanted a break?"

Byleth tilted her head. "I'm not sure what you mean. We have lives outside of contracts and battle. My father likes to fish, Hannah cares for horses...Gustav tends to plants and feeds birds whenever possible. I've done all those things, it's...pleasant."

"Hey kids!" Alois's voice caught their attention; the man was looking over his shoulder at them, waving at the trees ahead. "We're almost there! Lunch and other amenities await!"

A cheer went up from the mercenaries. Jeralt even let out a good-natured chuckle. Byleth was keenly aware of the fact she'd only eaten a bowlful of grapes since they set out that morning, and she accepted those words with a great sense of relief.

"This will be your first time at the monastery, right?" Dimitri asked. "I'd love to show you around, if you'd like."

"It really is Fodlan in a nutshell," Claude mused, "The good and the bad."

"Like it or not, we'll be there soon," Edelgard said mildly.

Any comment Byleth might have decided to make was swept away when they stepped free of the trees and her eyes fell upon one of the most amazing sights in the known world. Sitting upon vast, sweeping fields of grass and greenery was a sprawling and elegant castle who's many towers scraped the sky itself. Byleth was not a very verbose woman, and in that moment she was speechless with awe, stopped mid step to gaze up at the glorious building.

Sothis was right. This...this was significant, somehow. This place...

Things moved fairly smoothly after that. After a warm meal in the dining hall, the lords split off from them, and Byleth found herself missing their presence as she rejoined her father and waited in a large, beautifully decorated cathedral within the second floor of the massive complex.

Jeralt was worried. The stiff way he held himself and his rigid back were all but screaming his unease to to the heavens. "It's been years since I last set eyes on this place," He admitted. "To see her again..."

"Her?" She repeated softly.

Jeralt glanced at her. "Didn't you see her in the courtyard? The lady looking down on us from the balcony? That's the archbishop. Lady Rhea."

Now that he mentioned it... "I think so." She frowned at him. "Who is she?"

"You know the majority of Fodlan follow the teachings of Saint Seiros, who brought word from the goddess in our darkest days." Jeralt said by the way of explanation. A small frown crossed his face. "The leader of that ridiculously large organization is the archbishop."

"...Are you afraid of her?" That thought made Byleth about as uneasy as she came. Her father was a fearless man. He was more powerful than anyone she'd ever met in their many travels, fighting the likes of Nader the Undefeated and coming out victorious. He only ever worried about her and her unnatural stoicism. For him to be afraid...what sort of woman were they dealing with?

Jeralt didn't get a chance to answer. The door swung open and admitted two people the likes of which Byleth had not seen before. "Thank you for your patience, Jeralt," The man said, his voice sharp and to the point. He had dark green hair and stern green eyes several shades lighter than Claude's more natural-seeming orbs; he wore dark blue silk with gold embroidery that likely cost the same as their entire monthly budget. A handsome man, if a strange and very taciturn-looking one. "My name is Seteth. I am an adviser to the archbishop."

"Right," Her father murmured. Apparently, he didn't recognize the man. "Hello."

"It has been a long time, Jeralt." The woman said softly. Byleth's eyes riveted to her; they were the same height, yet the woman had more poise, more...softness. Her long green hair offset the significant oramentation she wore – a gold circlet, a large silk headdress, lilies...she wore primarily white and other soft colors. She looked...motherly, though what gave the young mercenary that impression, she could not say. "I wonder...was it the will of the goddess that we have another chance to meet like this."

Byleth did not remember the mother who died giving birth to her. Her father had no pictures, and it pained him to speak of those days. Perhaps that was compelled her to pad forward a few steps, remove herself from her usual haunt in her father's shadow so she might be seen.

"Forgive my silence all these years," Jeralt said, bowing deeply. "Much has happened since we last spoke."

"So I see," Lady Rhea said lightly, her gaze moving to Byleth. "The miracle of fatherhood has blessed you. This is your child, is she not?"

"Yes. Born many years after I left this place. I wish I could introduce you to her mother, but...we lost her to illness."

Byleth blinked once, twice, and resisted the urge to give her father a strange look. That was different from what he'd told her...

"I see. My condolences," The archbishop said, her voice soft and soothing. Her attention didn't move, however. "As for you...I heard of your valiant efforts from Alois. What is your name?"

Byleth swallowed lightly, and wondered if her mother had looked like Rhea. "I am Byleth," She said, bowing her head.

"A fine name indeed," Lady Rhea murmured. "From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for saving those students of the officer's academy." Her father sighed. Byleth discreetly elbowed him, quietly impressed that __he __needed reminders of politeness after all the grief he'd given Gustav over the years. Rhea must have seen it, though, because her smile grew visibly. "Jeralt. You already know what it is I wish to say, don't you?"

"You want me to rejoin the knights of Seiros," Jeralt ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not saying no, but..."

"Your apprehension stings," Lady Rhea said gently. "I had expected Alois had already asked this of you."

"He did," Byleth noted. "Loudly. Many times." Jeralt ran his hand down his face and gave her a rueful look. She flushed and clasped her wrist with one hand, averting her eyes.

"I must step away now," The Archbishop said. Byleth felt a funny warmth in her chest at the clear amusement dancing in the stately woman's eyes. "but I expect they will desire a word with you soon. Please listen carefully to what they have to say. Until tomorrow...farewell." Giving Byleth one last smile, she and Seteth departed.

Byleth rocked on her heels, bringing both her hands up to her chest. This day was strange, strange, strange. She hadn't felt so, well, __lively __for lack of a better word, in a long time – only some scattered days in her childhood could compare to the number of feelings she'd experienced ever since the morning...

__Look at you, __Sothis thought in amusement. __Bouncing like a child with sweets. Enjoying all the attention you're getting?__

__Mean, __she fired back without heat. __It is...nice...to not be looked at with unease, suspicion and fear. Don't you understand? You are with me, after all.__

"C'mon, kid." Jeralt said before Sothis could retort. She turned to him; he was trying to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "I'll show you the room they've set up for you, and where the bath house is. Then you can eat and rest. It's been a long day."

"Okay," She said softly, deciding not to prod him right now.

He always explained things to her eventually.

**End Chapter**

**And this is the final protagonist introduced. Onward we go!**

_**Read and Review please**_


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